


Of Snakebites and Werewolf Bites

by Drapetomania



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Punk Stiles Stilinski, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drapetomania/pseuds/Drapetomania
Summary: Derek has lost his family and is forced to return to his hometown searching for his sister's murderer; Stiles see his ordinary existence shaken by the reveal that the Supernatural is just a wrong animal bite away. Both need to start trusting each other and overcome their demons in order to face the challenges that come with facing the same enemy.(Aka an alternate version of season 1)





	Of Snakebites and Werewolf Bites

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the Sterek Reverse Bang 2018. You can find the beautiful artwork by the absolutely lovely Mo that inspired this work [on tumblr here](https://mophasia.tumblr.com/post/176293220847/of-snakebites-and-werewolf-bites-story-by).
> 
> Go check it out if you haven't already because it's truly marvelous! It was an honor to write for it and a pleasure to work with Mo, who was greatly helpful with developing this story and motivating me. Thank you for being patient with me and so kind! And seriously, the art is a thousand times better than this fic so go take a look!!
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who helped me out and assured me I wasn't the worst and that this story didn't suck, especially [Morg](https://zsphoenix.tumblr.com), for the beta. You guys are all awesome.
> 
> I suck at planning and this turned out bigger than expected. I am so inexperienced. I also suck at tagging. I hope you manage to enjoy this fic either way!

 

Entering the abandoned building always gave Stiles a bit of a chill; that was part of the thrill though. The wooden floor creaked in time with his footsteps as if it was age old **,** but he knew better. He knew just how contemporary and grand the house had stood before it had been charred to coal just a few years ago. It had been full of life and care, within bright walls every floor was swept dutifully, every pillow fluffed and plant watered. Now, it was just ash and dust. One gust of wind and it would collapse like a house of cards - or that's what it felt like at least.

 

Every now and then the structure groaned as if to voice its plight and it made Stiles wonder if ghosts exist. If they did, this was the place for them to be. Maybe the house itself was the ghost **:** so fragile, and yet persistent. Most of Beacon Hills would claim that talk of ghosts was ridiculous but no one ever dared come up here - they were a bunch of hypocrites. Stiles, albeit not quite religious, liked to believe in angels at the very least. He would have loved to meet some lost souls, hear their story and see what plane of existence they lived on, if they could talk to angels. Maybe they knew his mother. Although he would have loved to meet her again - and that desire burned acutely in his chest - he would rather not have her bound to this world in desperation as a ghost, but wished for her to have moved on to a happier place. God knew she hadn't been given an easy burden during her time on Earth.

 

Stiles touched the door frame gently as he walked through it to the living room, pausing just for a second, conveying, _I am here._ His lips moved with the words. He tried to imagine an energy current, a flow of… something, which would help him harness whatever magic was within him, but he was left disappointed. There was something about this house that drew him in regardless. Maybe it was because he hoped for a supernatural energy of any kind; maybe it were the curious circumstances of the fire, maybe it was as simple as it being the only shelter in the preserve, or maybe it was the simple fact that he had claimed this place as his own within the last few years. It was the place he could retreat to to be all alone, to think, to detach himself from the busy, never halting world around him.

 

Sure, it wasn't exactly homely, and yeah, it did kind of smell. But that was easily remedied with a single drag of a quick joint, enveloping the room in a sweet scent, and letting Stiles relax into a cross-legged position. His tongue swept over his lip, catching on his snakebites. He pulled an oversized book out from beside the couch and laid it out in front of him. The problem was that he had no idea if there was anything authentic about the text but library books were all he had to go on beside the internet. The only thing he could do was keep trying until something worked. It was frustrating beyond words but he had no other choice.

* * *

 

Derek’s life was in pieces - quite literally. His sister, the last person he had left in life, had been torn in half and left for dead in the middle of the forest; and his home was… home was charred wood and ashes, looming up above him in a way that was completely unfamiliar: dark, threatening, with a heavy scent of decay. All else he had was himself and he was pretty sure if someone were to cut him open, his insides would look just like the building before him: burnt out, broken down, black. Nothing but waste.

 

There was nothing else. Nowhere to go, nowhere to stay, nothing to feel. Nothing but the pain, the anger that Derek latched onto it for all he was worth. Even if there was no other reason to live, Laura deserved her revenge. She had been the greatest person Derek had ever known, sticking by his side through thick and thin... and look at what she had gotten. Derek wasn’t a kid anymore. For all his broken pieces, he wouldn’t let himself be rendered helpless. He would fight for all the good that Laura had left in him, in her honor, and by doing so, could honor his family by securing the Hale territory.

 

It had been years since he had last set foot on it. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, didn’t let his emotions escape past the inner barrier, couldn’t. Derek had to keep moving forward, step by step. Every movement felt like it jerked through his whole body, like he was a robot covered in rust with a bugged system. It wasn’t right.

 

He walked up the porch as he had done a million times before in his childhood and the wood creaked, but it wasn’t the same sound. This one left a bitter taste in Derek’s mouth. There was a scent of teenagers and weed around the house as he approached the door, which was surprisingly intact and swung open silently. Still, it was wrong - a false pretense of the unrelenting doom hidden behind such an unseeming door.

 

Derek stopped in the doorway, heart beating wildly. He could tell himself he was numb till the end of his days, it didn’t change the tightness of his chest and heavy breath, and the way his mind raced. His gaze inched along the singed carpet, up the seemingly trembling stairs, over the walls. Most of everything was still in place. It was just… colorless; like a forsaken graveyard with crumbling headstones. Which is exactly what it was, he reminded himself with a dull ache in his chest.

 

A soft murmur drifted through the house and struck Derek like a bucket of freezing water; he had been sunken so deep in thought that it took him another minute to realize that the voice must belong to the heartbeat he could pick up after the rushing in his ears cleared. There was someone in the house. With his senses on alert, Derek registered that it wasn’t teenager _s_ but, in fact, just the one whose scent was woven in between that of rotting wood and ashes.

 

"Fucking witches and their bogus hocus pocus. Rat tails, my ass. Chopping rats in half isn't going to do anything but get bloody. Like I spent 2 hours collecting spider webs- for what?"

 

There was another grumble, along with the sound of hasty turning of pages. Derek stepped carefully toward the source, managing to make his way to the doorway of the living room unnoticed. Sitting there, in front of the couch was the expected teenager. He had buzzed green hair, a few piercings  and tunnels in his ears. His jeans were ripped and the only thing Derek figured missing were some tattoos he'd regret later on lining his arms. Then he'd be the picture perfect teenage rebel punk.

 

“This is private property,” Derek said in a biting tone, having to clench his teeth to withstand baring them at him. No one was supposed to be here, going about as if nothing had happened, as if they weren't treading through a corpse of a house.

 

The boy jumped at the sound of his voice, flailing quite spectacularly before managing to steady himself and look up. A breath rushed out of him as his eyes met Derek's, who made sure to glare as best as he could.

 

“Oh my God! For a moment there,” Stiles waved a finger up at him, “I thought I heard a ghost.” He snickered. “I've always wondered if this house was haunted, you know, with what happened, but now that I see you, I see that you can't be. I mean, you crept up on me like a ninja all sneakily, but you're way too gorgeous to be a disembodied spirit.”

 

Derek's expression hardened even more. He could practically feel the way Stiles' gaze roved over his body.

 

“Way too solid too. Not translucent at all. It would almost be kind of disappointing except you're not,” the teen continued talking, unfazed. He didn't seem to have any intention whatsoever of packing his things up and leaving.

 

“Get out,” Derek pressed out, crossing his arms over his chest, which successfully appointed the teen's attention to his strength. It only brought a smirk to his face though.

 

“Hey now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. You don't own the place."

 

"Actually, I do." Derek wasn't sure if that was truth or not. He wasn't quite clear on how those things worked, seeing as Laura and he hadn't stuck around long enough to find out. They had never talked about it, at least. But he was the last truly _living_ heir to it so it should be rightfully his. It wasn't like Peter could make any use of it with the state he was in.

 

The teen laughed, at first, until his eyes narrowed and he scrutinized Derek more closely. Derek's skin began to itch. He wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to recognize him, though he'd been aware he ran that risk when coming here. But if it shut the little punk up and got him to go away, all the better.

 

Derek waited. Then the teen sat back a little. "Holy shit. You're Derek Hale!"

 

Derek didn't reply. That didn't seem to bother the kid.

 

"Wow, that's awkward. I guess you do own the place. Where have you been, man? No one's seen you around. Or, at least I haven't, and I haven't heard of you in forever. You're like the cranky old hermit they always show in movies."

 

Derek couldn't remember ever hearing someone monologue so much.

 

"Get off my lawn," the boy mimicked, raising his fist in the air and shaking it. His grin was really riding on Derek's nerves.

 

"I'm just kidding, big guy. No need to pull that face like you bit into a lemon. Only hotter - not a hot lemon, but a hot you, if you get what I mean."

 

"If you think 'flattery'-" flattery that made Derek burn with a mixture of anger and shame, rather than feel touched "-will get you anywhere, you are _dead_ wrong," Derek told him. He kept a steadfast glare on the kid, and almost considered threatening to call the cops but he didn't look like he'd care about that. Derek would probably find some 'fuck the police' graffiti in the house somewhere by yours truly.

 

"Ah, but is it mere flattery if it's true?"

 

"Listen. Either you leave willingly or I kick you off the premises - quite literally," Derek explained dryly. He took a few steps forward, hoping to appear menacing enough. Instead of shrinking back though, the teen stood up and closed the space between them. He was only an inch or so shorter, albeit quite scrawny looking, which made him appear smaller. Nonetheless, everything about him screamed defiance, especially his easy smile and the spark in his bright, brown eyes.

 

“I assume you don’t remember me so let me introduce myself. I’m Stiles. Nice to meet you again.”

 

Derek knew that this so-called _Stiles_ \- which was obviously a ridiculous self-appointed name - wasn’t merely being polite but was trying to make a point, and he hated that it awakened his curiosity. He couldn’t for the life of him remember ever seeing this kid. If anything, he would have remembered that name. Or his scent. But nothing called for recognition… except for those eyes. The longer Derek stared back at them, the more aware he grew of a tugging in the back of his mind. There was the smallest chance that Stiles wasn’t just stalling but was saying the truth. His heartbeat didn’t betray him either way. Still, he remained an unwanted visitor.

 

“Out,” Derek repeated, unhappy about the fact that this kid was getting to him. “Now.” The hint of a growl rose in his throat, and for a second Stiles’ demeanor faltered. He let the hand he’d held out fall back to his side.

 

“You know, in a small town like this it won’t do you any good to be so rude. Help your neighbors and shit,” Stiles hummed, though his throwaway hand gesture seemed to minimize the importance of the saying.

 

“I don’t need anything. Much less from you. You are the one who's going to need help once I’m done with you, though.”

 

Stiles’ gaze roamed Derek’s face as if he was finally debating if Derek was being serious. Then he sighed, and apparently decided against it.

 

“Listen, buddy. Your whole tough guy act here,” he made a circular motion in front of Derek’s chest, “although sexy at first, I have to admit is really getting kind of-”

 

Derek didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, registering only the pressure of Stiles’ finger on his chest. He saw red. Stiles was pinned against the wall in a split second, claw tips pressing lightly against his wrist as Derek growled, fangs and blue eyes bared. Finally, fear made its appearance in Stiles’ wide blown eyes. Derek kind of hated the way it tainted his scent as well. He’d never enjoyed being the bad guy, especially with the way Stiles’ heart rabbitted in his chest like he was about to have a heart attack.

 

But what was he supposed to do? Stiles had no right - to touch him, to be there, to intrude on his life and just do whatever he wanted.

 

“Get out before I rip your throat out... with my teeth,” Derek said, low and slow.

 

Stiles all but shook before him, mouth opening. “Yeah. O-okay,” he agreed, voice breaking. He bolted as soon as Derek let go, not once looking back, practically running for his life.

 

As the tires of the car outside dug up the forest floor, all up to the gravel beneath, Derek bit his tongue. He only felt capable of breathing properly again on the other side of the forest a few minutes later.

 

* * *

 

  
“Scott-!” Stiles wheezed, as the engine of the jeep roared angrily beneath him. “Scott! Thank god you picked up. Oh my god, you won’t even believe- I just, just listen to me in case I get my guts torn out, okay? There's another one- yes, another werewolf. We haven't been running away from unicorns for the past week, now have we?"  
  
If there was one thing Stiles could say about his best friend, it was that he wasn't always the brightest. They were kind of an unlikely pair, bonded over both being loners, raised by single parents who pulled double shifts, and well, the fact that Scott stuck around, unlike everybody else. They had met in detention, like some sort of lame Breakfast Club spin off, after Stiles had pulled a prank on the teacher and Scott had attempted to cheat on a test. They just hadn't had any life changing epiphanies until their life turned into a real life Teen Wolf remake a few days ago when Scott had gotten bitten. This version of the movie just happened to have bloodthirsty werewolves, rather than basketball playing ones.  
     
"It's a different one. He had blue eyes, not red."  
  
"Scott, he growled at me, he had fangs and all that extra hair-” but no eyebrows- which, how had he even stayed so damn attractive with a transformation like that? “- and he kind of threatened to tear my throat out just like a werewolf would, so you know, I’m pretty sure all that screams werewolf in like every single way possible.”  
  
“No, I’m in the car and he’s not-” Stiles threw a long look into the rear view mirror, “I don’t think he’s following me.”  
  
Come to think of it, Derek hadn’t harmed him whatsoever. Almost made him shit his pants, yeah, maybe mentally scarred him but there were no physical traces. His wrists, where he could still feel the prick of the claws, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms, were clean, bare. They didn’t have any irritation whatsoever. Derek had been careful with him and that temporarily stumped him. Even Scott had seriously attempted to hurt Stiles, and the only other werewolf he knew of was out there killing people. Bizarre.  
  
“Hey, Scott, I gotta go. I’ll drop by later. There is something I have to find out,” he told him, not really waiting for a reply before he hung up and tossed his phone to the passenger seat. Now that he had calmed down a bit he knew that Derek was a highly valuable source of information. Even if his ‘kindness’ was a front. There was quite a bit on the Hales among police reports and if Stiles’ suspicions were right Derek wasn’t a lone wolf in the family - or at least he hadn’t been when they had all still been alive.  
  
He could distinctly remember his father staying up for nights on end, going through the files and saying that something wasn’t right. It had been the biggest case in years - all up until the recent murders, actually. Stiles himself had managed to sneak looks onto the files when he was with him at the office or he brought them home.  
  
There had been suspicions from the start. Although an electrical malfunction or gas leak, or both combined, could possibly cause the death of 8 people on a dry autumn evening, it didn’t quite seem plausible. The question remained why not a single person that had been in the house had made it out. It could have something to do with the supernatural state of the family, right? Just like the current deaths did.  
  
Stiles had research to do.

* * *

 

  
  
The next time Derek saw Stiles, only a handful of days later, the teen was bursting into his territory again. Derek had heard the jeep a mile off first because that car apparently had the engine of a fire truck or something, and Stiles wasn't quiet walking up to the house either. It sounded like he was kicking up leaves on purpose. Almost as if to announce his arrival, which - despite Derek's utter annoyance about the disturbance - he could recognize as a smart move when facing a respectful werewolf. Not that you could really sneak up on any of them. Considering the situation though, and how Derek still considered using another throat-tearing threat, showing up at all was a stupid idea in general.  
  
Derek had more than enough time to stop put away the newspaper clippings he had gathered, make sure he looked put together enough to be able to scare Stiles off, and position himself right behind the door. The surprising thing was that the teen actually hesitated and knocked instead of just throwing the door open. It kind of ruined Derek’s set up. But he was still able to open the door before Stiles could lower his hand.  
  
Instead of letting Stiles look into the house - which still smelled like him from all the times he had been there -, Derek stepped out himself and crowded Stiles back on the porch so he could close the door behind him.  
  
“Oh- okay, careful. Don’t run me over,” Stiles protested as he nearly allowed them to collide before providing space.

  
“Stay away was implied when I told you to leave,” Derek replied, crossing his arms over his chest again and fixating another glare at the teen, hoping to remind him of their last encounter. He didn’t quite understand where Stiles got the courage from to stand here so boldly all of a sudden.  
  
“Mh, well, maybe you should have said it then. Maybe I would’ve been a good boy and would have listened.” Stiles’ tone let Derek know that he was all but serious. “Then again, I’m pretty sure it’s you who wants to be the good boy.”  
  
“A dog joke,” Derek said dryly. “Aren’t you a clever one. How about I remind you just how much I want to taste your blood.” He let the color bleed into his eyes again.  
  
Stiles lifted his hands up innocently but then shrugged. “Now that sounds like a vampire thing. And I’m pretty sure it's a lie - mostly at least - but anyway, I’m not here to unintentionally _or_ intentionally offend you or whatever-”

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

“Ha, no. There are actually two matters at hand that I have to discuss with you today, of really, _really_ great importan-"

 

"Get on with it," Derek interrupted. Whatever Stiles was here for, Derek wanted to finish dealing with it and get on with his own day. He had things to do, a murdering rouge Alpha to find, and he wouldn't let some punk kid deter him.

 

"Yeesh, you're impatient. And demanding. Okay. So, first of all, I kind of left my things here the other day and second," Stiles said with a sigh, briefly biting down on his snakebites with a click. Derek had a tattoo himself but he wasn't sure he got the piercing thing, like the industrial in his ear. A metal stick. Or  the stretched ears. What was there to gain from that? What meaning was there to it? Besides the cool look.  "I... We could really use your help."

 

Now, that was unexpected. Derek didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that.  
  
“Scott and I-”  
  
“What makes you think I would help you?” Derek asked, unable to comprehend any line of thought that could lead Stiles to think he would help him after he repeatedly trespassed. “Did you forget-”  
  
“Your threats? The fangs and claws? Nope. Trust me, that will never be forgotten. I see it in my dreams.” Stiles’ voice lowered into a mumble and Derek couldn’t quite catch more than a whiff of fear, unlike last time. “Look, I know you’re a big, scary werewolf and all, and I know I shouldn’t have messed with your stuff - which I honestly didn’t mean to. I didn’t think you would ever come back- and that’s no excuse, I know. I’m sorry.”  
  
He met Derek’s eyes, “I am,” and bit his lip when there was no response.  
  
"Right. Okay. So the thing is Scott, my friend, is a werewolf, too. He was bitten like 2 weeks ago, you see and whoever did it is after him or something but thankfully not to kill him because then he'd probably be dead already, obviously. We're not sure what he wants. But yeah, we could use your help - to teach Scott and maybe figure out how to stop the big bad wolf?"  
  
And that officially turned this whole situation into a disaster. Like it hadn't been enough of  a punch to the stomach to come back to this town alone. Then he found his sister dead, his uncle still catatonic, and now apparently whatever werewolf had killed said sister (and like a half a dozen people in town so far) had turned someone. That meant they were dealing with an Alpha _and_ now, apparently, he had to take care of two teens.  
  
"And you're just going to trust a stranger?" Derek asked him. Any help or input he could get would be great, especially if there was a connection to the seemingly rogue Alpha, but he didn't exactly want to involve a human. They died too easily.  
  
"Not a complete stranger," Stiles pointed out, his tongue darting out to drag over the bottom lip and the two rings there. There was still a nervousness about the boy that confirmed that he wasn't very sure about his plan but he stood his ground and held the eye contact. "Also, you didn't try to kill me and seem to be reasonable so... It's the best choice we have right now."  
  
"You know, you keep saying 'we' but I see only one person here."  
  
"I figured I'd clear things with you first and not just pop up on your doorstep with a sometimes not so in control werewolf... I haven't exactly told Scott about my plan yet." Stiles grinned sheepishly.  
  
"This just keeps getting better and better." Derek sighed. But, he noted, the boy did have some smarts.  
  
"Hey, it could always be worse. The other werewolf could be here trying to kill us both. Is that how it works? Would he try to kill you? Do you think he'd succeed? Or she. Or they. For all we know it could be any gender. We wanna be inclusive."  
  
"Do you ever stop talking?"  
  
"We're having a conversation. That kinda requires talking."  
  
"This conversation is over."  
  
"You can't just decide that."  
  
"Yes, I can. Everything has been said. Time for you to leave."  
  
"Excuse you but I have a lot more to say. We need to exchange information. There's stuff I need to know. I mean, we're partners now, right? This exchange is going to happen?"  
  
"Not partners. We will talk," Derek grumbled. "But not now. I have something I need to do." He turned away, opening the door to go back inside.  
  
"Hey, wait! Hold on! When are we going to talk then? Do you ask for my number? Is that where this is going next? Because I approve of that very much- Derek!"  
  
Derek shut the door in his face.  
  
"But my things! I need- fuck! Asshole." Derek heard from behind the door. Walking over to the living room, he grabbed the backpack next to the couch, stuffed the books inside and went back to the door. Stiles was already on his way back to the car at at that point.  
  
"Stiles!" Derek barked out. As soon as the teen turned around Derek threw the backpack at his chest. Stiles' eyes grew comically large and he let out a cry, arms flying out. He caught it rather clumsily but managed to stop it from falling to the ground nonetheless. Derek had to bite back an amused a smirk.  
  
"Dude, you can't just-"  
  
"Tonight. Make sure Scott is there too," Derek said.  
  
"What? Where? Are you going to sniff me out or something?"  
  
Derek didn't indulge him with an answer, just disappeared into the house instead. He listened to the teen grumble all the way back to the car, start it and drive away. Making his way back to the living room he slowly sank down on the couch. It gave a quiet crack, like it wasn't meant to be sat on, and let some dust rise around him, tickling his throat within seconds.

 

Everything was going downhill and time was obviously not on Derek's side. Especially with the full moon coming up in a few days. He had to make sure Scott didn't lose control. People could be in danger and Stiles would probably be the first target. Not that he mattered to Derek, but every wolf attack brought more attention to their secret. He had to put an end to all this before it all went to shit. Hunters could be on their way for all he knew. There could be more bitten omegas, too. He had no way of telling if so. He had to find the Alpha and do anything in his power to stop it. How? Derek had no clue. Laura hadn't even been able to stop it. How was he supposed to?  
  
Derek had to consciously unclench his fists, where his claws were digging into his skin, blood slowly trickling down his palms. Staring down at the red marks on his hands, there was just one thing he knew. There was going to be blood. He would kill the Alpha if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

 

The Stilinski house was easy to track down. Stiles’ scent was a particular one. It had gotten into Derek’s nose and wouldn't leave him alone. His irritation for the little punk continued to grow, even while he wasn't present at all. There was something about him that didn't let Derek just shake him out of his mind. He couldn't figure out what his motivation was.

 

Derek could hear muffled music coming from the upper floor of the house as he approached. It seemed surprisingly gentle though, and only when he was halfway across the lawn did it come across clear enough for Derek to actually _hear_ it.

 

It, being the delicate tunes of a piano solo that floated through the air so weightlessly and yet managed to bind his feet to the ground. Memories of the once grand piano in his old living room flashed before Derek's eyes; the Christmas tree next to it as Peter played carols and Cora sang proudly; the fireplace on the far side, lighting the room with a warm glow to accompany the heartful music; challenging afternoons of eight-handed music pieces that required the skill and attention of every person playing; hours of practice for those moments that brought them all together. It was a single instrument, a simple sound - that had become a missing constant in Derek's life. Now, it acted as a secret weapon, tearing up the wounds he carried on the inside.

 

Derek could only so much as swallow down the lump in his throat all while he heard but couldn't quite see as the window in front of him opened.

 

“Romeo, oh Romeo,” Stiles called down, pitching his voice obnoxiously. “Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

 

The cozy flames in the fireplace burned up, engulfed it and spread. Derek could feel them envelope his chest, making even his eyes burn. The smoke clogged his lungs and suddenly he felt like he was drowning. What irony.

 

“Kind of outdated, don't you think? Though I wouldn't mind getting serenaded with a boombox. I gotta say, Hale, I expect a little more from a potential suitor.”

 

Derek kept his mouth screwed shut. He wouldn't let his heart beat out of his chest, wouldn't let the dam break into a waterfall. It was just music, and he had to focus on something else, focus on… Stiles’ voice. A force of never ending source.

 

“You know, you're lucky my dad isn't home because he would be wondering what the hell Derek Hale is doing just standing on our lawn this late in the evening after disappearing wordlessly for like how many- was it 6 years? Though, maybe he'd just be happy to see you alive and well.”

 

Derek wasn't sure he was either of those so he rolled his eyes at Stiles, who had a lazy smirk on his face and was leaning on the windowsill. Derek slowly worked up to movement and walked straight toward the side of the house. He had to jerk himself out of this state, and so he leapt up, grabbing ridges and climbing his way up to the window which Stiles was at. Pulling himself up by the windowsill, feet braced against the outer wall, Derek came face to face with the wide eyed teen, who seemed to be taking his turn being frozen in place. Derek could feel his quiet exhale against his chin, watched as his eyes slid down to Derek's lips and lingered.

 

“Fuck, that is so not fair,” Stiles let out, capturing Derek's attention with his own lips once again as his tongue ran over them. It were those damned snakebites. He growled to break the tense moment, uncomfortable with the attention and proximity, suddenly becoming nervous about entering the room.

 

“Oh, right,” Stiles said, clearing his throat as he stepped back. “We do have a door, you know. There was no need to be a show off. Scaling the house in a second flat. I know you're strong enough to kill me just as fast too, okay?”

 

Derek climbed inside and closed the window before immediately making his way to the source of the music, which was apparently an outdated CD player, and turned it off. It was a bit of a struggle to keep himself composed with it playing. Even with silence now spreading through the room, the tightness in his chest persisted.

 

“Wait, are you here to kill me because I know too much? This no talking thing is kind of scaring me, dude.”

 

Derek almost let out a dry laugh, instead swallowing down all emotion.

 

“ _That’s_ what scares you?” Derek asked, once again crossing his arms across his torso, too aware of his every movement to not tense up a little.

 

“Well, yeah, I mean, I might have fantasized about a scenario like this before so I'm not complaining about having a hot, older guy sneak into my bedroom but I'm pretty sure you have other intentions than those I would hope for. And yeah, I'm pretty sure murderers are quite silent.” Stiles was still in the spot he had backed up into, moving his arms as he spoke but otherwise not moving. He was in more comfortable clothing than Derek this time; sweatpants compared to Derek's black jeans. It made Derek feel all the more a stranger to the room, unfamiliar with all the band posters in it, and slightly overwhelmed with the scents around him.

 

“Where's Scott?”

 

“See, this is already way off script from the scenario I had in mind. He's at work. He'll be here in like 20-ish minutes.” Stiles stepped over to his desk chair and plopped down in front of his opened laptop. Derek caught sight of something about protection spells. Now the array of objects next to the laptop made sense; some crystals, candles, some sharp smelling herbs.

 

“What's your deal?”

 

“What's _my_ deal? You're the one acting all evasive and shit. Like, I'm possibly a threat, which first of all, very flattering thank you, and just so you know I'm very resourceful, my survival skills are on par, so… yeah.” Stiles nodded, his finger tapping on the chair's armrest. Derek wished the teen could for once just hold still and be straight about his point.

 

“Is all this just a game to you?” Derek pressed. “Are you having fun googling werewolves and pretending you know everything, and can magically defeat a rogue Alpha with some bullshit from the internet?”

 

“Whoa, hey-”

 

“What is your deal? Why are you doing this? You know you actually could die.”

 

“First of all, back off. I'm literally just trying to keep Scott and myself alive, okay? And other people. Also trying to help you because whoever this ‘Alpha’ is, he is the one who killed your sister.”

 

Derek's eyes narrowed.

 

“Yeah, I know about your sister. It's how I got caught up in all this. As for why, Scott's my friend and it's my fault he got bit so it's my responsibility, and additionally,” he took a breath, “I'm something, too… or like, I'm not just an ordinary human. I can do things.”

 

“You're going to have to be more specific,” Derek requested.

 

Stiles gestured at his desk and the pile of books at his feet, as well as the papers strewn about the room. “Magic… or something. Whatever you want to call it. Some kind of power,” he explained with a shrug.

 

“Show me.”

 

Stiles then broke eye contact and fidgeted, turning to his laptop, as if it suddenly caught his interest.

 

“I.. Can't really do anything right now. I still have to figure it out,” he admitted.

 

“Right.” The disbelief was clear in Derek's voice.

 

“I know your life hasn’t been easy but can't you like trust me for one second?”

 

Derek was surprised by the amount of exasperation Stiles was giving off. But the answer was still easy, “No.”

 

He stalked over, turning the chair and leaning down so Stiles would be forced to look into his eyes. The teen stilled before him.

 

“The only reason I agreed to talk with you is because I need all the information I can get. Nothing else. And, most importantly, I can hear if you lie.” Derek reached out to tap Stiles’ chest. “Your heartbeat. I can hear every single little stutter it makes. I can hear it racing now. That's the only thing I trust in.”

 

Stiles swallowed hard. Derek's finger, still lightly resting on his chest, rose and fell with his slightly open-mouthed breaths. “Then you'll know I'm not lying. About anything.”

 

“I know you believe you're magical. You want to be part of the game, right?”

 

Stiles’ scent soured abruptly and he swatted the finger away from his chest.

 

“Oh, fuck you. Yeah, I think the supernatural is one of the coolest things, including freaking werewolves and magic, but I wouldn't lie just to be part of it.”

 

“Then you could be using magic to charm me and trick me into working with you.”

 

“You know what, I've tried what I could but if you don't want to work together you should just leave. I'm done being accused of things,” Stiles said, standing up to bring them to the same eye level, his gaze now hardened.

 

Derek had a choice to make. Let himself into a deal with this teenager, who stood his ground and risked his life for a friend, whose whole body screamed strength, including the little upturned nose and firm mouth, who very possibly might be magical and a threat if Derek's gut feeling was right, or play it safe. Did he really have much choice though? If he played it safe, it lessened his chances of catching the Alpha. And his own safety really wasn't a priority here. Beacon Hills was. Laura was.

 

He nodded slowly, watched the acceptance arise in Stiles' eyes, even though he still smelled upset. Genuinely upset that Derek wouldn't trust him. There were a million questions this boy raised in the werewolf but most of all Derek just wanted to ask _why_. Why was he doing what he was doing? Why did he care, about Derek specifically? And why did Derek himself care so much about why Stiles did anything at all?

 

But he didn't ask. Instead, he stepped back once it started to get awkward, the tension having shifted to something intimate in a different way. Something that could easily make Derek shatter, like he'd done before, under the hands of someone else.

 

“Okay,” Stiles breathed out, nodding in return. “Good. Let's do this. Partner work.”

 

Derek cleared his throat. “Tell me everything you know.”

* * *

 

Stiles stopped the jeep outside of Beacons Crossing Home.

 

“Why are we doing this again?” Scott asked from the passenger seat as he undid his seatbelt, looking out at the dully lit building in the dark.

 

“Because Peter is Derek’s last living relative. Maybe he can help us out,” Stiles replied, hopping out of the car. Scott followed him quickly.

 

“Didn't you say he was catatonic?”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe he got better. Maybe there's something.”

 

“I don’t understand why we have to work with them at all.”

 

“Shh, quiet,” Stiles whispered. “They’re werewolves, smartass. They’re the only ones we know of that can help you.”

 

“I have you.”

 

Stiles turned to him. It had been a long day and being mediator in between two opposing forces like Derek and Scott had been extremely tiring. “You tried to kill me, Scott. I have limited resources.”

 

“Okay, fine, but why are we sneaking in after visiting hours? Why can't we come in the morning?”

 

“Because,” Stiles said, turning back to the building and heading down a side path toward the back, “they might not let us in. We're not family or anything.”

 

“But they might,” Scott argued, cowering down and looking around anxiously. “No harm in trying.”

 

Stiles shrugged as he reached a door and pulled it open. “We're already here now, come on.”

 

He disappeared inside, leaving an upset Scott behind.

 

“Stiles, wait!” Stiles heard behind him quietly and he glanced back to see Scott jogging toward him. He waved him faster around the next corner, stopping him just behind it with an arm to his chest and pressing him against the wall. They waited for a beat or two, making sure the coast was clear and then Stiles lead the way again, counting the doors until he came to the 7th one in the hallway.

 

Stiles knocked quietly, before he slipped inside, leaving the door open for Scott, who stepped in right behind him and shut it again. The scarcely furnitured room was silent and still, lit only by a street lamp outside. Not even the sound of breathing penetrated the quiet. A man lay in the bed in the middle of the room, just as unmoving as the rest of bland surroundings. Only his chest moved up and down every so slightly- the only indication of life.

 

As he walked closer, Stiles could see that Peter's eyes were open. But they showed no movement either, even when Stiles stepped into his field of sight. As a matter of fact, the eyes might have been what looked deadest about him.

 

Upon closer inspection, Stiles could observe the scarred skin of his face, barely leaving an inch unmarked. The scarring continued down Peter's neck and Stiles’ gaze continued down his shoulders and arms, down to the hands on top of the sheets, finding the skin just as disfigured.

 

It made his stomach plunge to his feet as the devastation Peter had been through in the destroyed house became clearer. Not only did this remind him of standing by his dying mother’s bedside, making something stir inside him, but Peter had been burned alive, infused with smoke, so much so that even his werewolf metabolism couldn't heal him properly. He'd been utterly defeated. Stiles could imagine it was worse than death - the ultimate torture, if what he had read was right, if Peter was aware of everything around him still, but couldn't react or interact with the world around him in any way.

 

If his dad had been right and the fire had been a targeted attack, it would explain Derek's trust issues. No wonder he didn't want to work with anyone: his whole family was probably killed off and no arrests had been made. All that violence - and what for? There hadn't been any recorded animal attacks or murders that could have been ascribed to werewolves before this summer. Even if the Hales had been movie-like bloodthirsty werewolves - which everyone who had known them could attest they weren't, Stiles even could remember seeing Cora Hale in elementary school - who were they to decide which species deserved to live or not? Who were they to harm innocent people?

 

With his own anger rising inside, Stiles was starting to understand Derek's motivation. Chances were that whoever had killed the rest of his family and done this to Peter had also murdered his sister. If they were conniving enough to make the murder of 8 appear as a tragic accident maybe they knew how to make another look like an animal attack.

 

Either way, the Hales were innocent bystanders, unlike the actual murdering Alpha out there and Stiles knew he had to stand by Derek.

 

“Um, Stiles,” Scott let out quietly from over his shoulder. “He doesn't look like he's better. Can we go now?”

 

Stiles finally averted his gaze from Peter but, instead of leaving, he focused his attention on the bedside table. “Not yet. There might still be something around here.”

 

Pausing as he reached for the bedside table, Stiles glanced over at Peter. “For the record, in case you can hear me, I apologize for this intrusion,” he said before opening the drawer. There weren't many things in it, mostly different kinds of pills and papers, nothing personal or seemingly important.

 

“Stiles!”

 

“What? Is someone coming?”

 

“No but we really shouldn't be doing this,” Scott complained.

 

“I know.”

 

“So stop!”

 

“Would you rather violate a bit of privacy or, you know, die? Because we are kind of in a life or death situation,” Stiles pointed out to him and proceeded to search the room. It took but a minute, finding nothing but a few clothes and medical supplies. Scott stood nervously by the door the whole time.

 

“Can we go _now_?” He urged when Stiles stopped in the middle of the room at a loss.

 

“Yeah, fine.” Stiles knew when to admit defeat. But the visit hadn't been for nought. He knew now that he absolutely had to get back access to his powers and use them for good. It would give him so many more opportunities.

 

“Maybe I can even help you,” he said under his breath, throwing one last look at the lonely man in the room, darting after Scott before they could get caught.

* * *

 

After staying up for most of the night researching, Stiles ended up sleeping past noon. As soon as he woke up and had eaten breakfast though, he gathered up a few things and set out.  
  
Half an hour later he was at the preserve, hoping to be close enough the Hale house without alarming Derek. He couldn't do with any distractions right now; he had enough problems with focus as it was. Stiles deposited his backpack at the root of an oak tree and pulled out a decent sized scentless candle, a lighter, his notebook and a bag of crushed basil, placing all items on the ground next to it.  
  
"Alright, Stilinski, this is your moment. Don't mess it up. Things could go terribly wrong and we don't want that or else you might have Derek Hale at your throat," he told himself as he straightened and slipped off his plaid shirt and tied it around his waist, leaving him in a plain dark shirt. Lydia had grimaced at that move when he’d done it in front of her once and it had been one of the hints that clued him into the fact that they would never end up together. Which was fine. Plenty of fish out there in the sea, as they said. Eventually he’d find someone who didn’t mind his quirks, right?

 

Stiles sighed, trying to refocus his mind as he crouched down to flip open the notebook to the symbol he’d traced off his laptop the other night. "Though Derek's lips on your neck wouldn't be such a bad thing now, would it? No, sir. It would _not_ .” He snickered to himself, running his hand over the rough bark of the tree. “Wood.”  
  
With the notebook propped up against the tree, Stiles busied himself with placing the white candle in front of it. It was quickly lit, flame swaying in an unseen breeze. Stiles waited. This whole procedure was certainly starting out less spectacular than he had expected. Who had thought simple basil would do the trick, anyway? Maybe magic would be easier than he’d thought: he just had to get his hands on the right ingredients.

 

There was no telling, really, how much basil he was supposed to use but he took a pinch and sprinkled it into the candle. He was kind of mixing a few things he had read online here but he was hoping every aspect of an additional spell helped strengthen it.

 

“ _Goddess protect Derek every day_

_when at work or when at play_

_as they sleep and they love_

_give derek protection from above_ ,” Stiles read off of the paper.

 

He repeated  it a few times, until he could recite the poem with his eyes closed. He cast away the feeling of foolishness and tried to believe it would work. Then he blew out the candle and used the wax to draw a sigil on the tree in front of him. It should have occurred to him to come up with a better way to get the wax on the tree. Almost burning his finger on the hot wax and awkwardly smearing it on the rough surface wasn’t working all too great. Stiles had to grab the lighter again and reignite the candle when the wax harden before he could finish the symbol.

                            

Eventually it was done and all Stiles could do was hope it had worked. As an additional protective measure, Stiles got out one of the four pennies in his pocket and buried it next to a distinctive root. Three more of these and he would have set up a protective square around the Hale house and some of the property. Then it just had to work. Somehow.

 

He was on the last one, managing to work increasingly faster, when a growl sounded behind him. Stiles turned abruptly, already picturing his dad finding him in the middle of the forest with his guts torn out and candle wax all over. Despite being the sheriff how would he ever find an explanation for that?

 

Luckily, it was just Derek.

 

“What are you doing?” the werewolf demanded, once again crossing his arms. At this point Stiles figured it was either a display of strength or a subconscious defensive mechanism.

 

“Hello, grumpy cat. I’m trying something out,” Stiles replied, finishing up with the symbol on the trunk and wiping his hand on his pants with a grimace, like it helped. It really just made more of a mess. “I'm so gonna have to throw these away, huh? Fuck.”

 

Derek moved closer and peered at the tree in front of Stiles. He stood rigid as ever, radiating suspicion, while Stiles dug out the last penny.

 

“Mind digging me a hole here, big guy?” he asked, clearing a small patch of forest ground and patting it and when Derek looked down at him adding, “Figure that's something you would enjoy, you know, because…”

 

Stiles received an eye roll for that, which he considered a great improvement from a death threat.

 

“Oh, come on, I had to dig three of those already! Look at me! I’m a mess. It's the least you can do.”

 

“How can I know you’re not doing something harmful?” Derek asked.

 

“I’m _literally_ trying to protect _your ass_ ,” Stiles paused, “And the rest of you, of course. Your ass is just one wonderful asset.” He grinned.

 

Another eye roll.

 

“Do you get it? Because of-”

 

“Yes, Stiles, I get it. Tell me one thing. How is a hole going to protect me?”

 

“It’s about what goes in the hole,” Stiles said, a hang digging into his pocket to grab the last penny.

 

“I’m sure it is,” Derek hummed.

 

“Are you-” Stiles gaped at him. “Are- was that… a joke?”

 

Instead of replying, Derek plucked the penny out of Stiles’ fingers, and proceeded to raise an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“This is what’s supposed to protect me?”

 

All Stiles could process at the moment was the brushing of Derek's fingers against his. The touch was softer than Stiles could have ever imagined and it made a shiver run down his back that he barely managed to suppress. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. Derek was objectively attractive, sure, but Stiles wasn't supposed to start getting infatuated with him. And in such a short time at that. It couldn't lead to anything good.

 

Derek’s eyebrows continued to move as the silence stretched out. Stiles cleared his throat.

 

“Uh, yes, in fact. It is. Very much so. Along with the spell.” Stiles pointed at the faint mark in front of him feebly.

 

“Some candle wax, basil and fancy words?” Derek summarized, obviously unhappy with Stiles’ doing. He flipped the coin back at Stiles, which then hit him in the chest and dropped into the leaves. For a moment Stiles was sure he had lost it.

 

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed. “That was very, very rude.” He huffed as he brushed away some leaves to get to the penny. “I don’t even know why I’m helping you.”

 

Though he did very well know. His heart ached at the thought of all Derek had been through, how the world had turned against him. Stiles liked to think he was a pretty decent judge of character and that Derek was a good one.

 

“I’d like to know that, too,” Derek said, his expression growing more serious. “Just like I’d like to know what the hell you were doing at the care facility last night.”

 

“Oh. That- I… How did you even find out?”

 

“Your scent was all over the room. _What_ were you looking for?” Derek asked, stepping forward so he could loom over Stiles more effectively. The worst thing about Derek’s intimidation tactics - besides them being so blatantly obvious - was that they actually worked on some level. Stiles wanted to believe Derek wouldn’t do anything and that’s what his experience so far proved but still, he remained antsy.

 

“I was looking for… anything really. Some kind of clue,” he explained weakly, shrugging with one shoulder.

 

“What clue could a _catatonic_ man possibly keep hidden? A clue to what exactly?”

 

“Just- anything! Navigating all this isn’t easy, you know? People are dying, my only friend has control issues and is being stalked and you are all secretive and shit. What else am I supposed to do? Sit around and just let things happen?”

 

“You could leave it to people who know what they’re doing,” Derek growled at him.

 

“Like you? You admitted you could use any help you can get. Don’t start changing the narrative,” Stiles pointed out, finally standing up so he could face Derek properly. “Why can’t you accept me as an ally?”

 

Stiles understands. He gets it. Have your family burned alive once and you’ll be scarred for life, but he was trying to do his absolute best here but Derek was like an immovable object. Now if only Stiles could be an unstoppable force - he liked to think he was - maybe they could achieve something. Maybe they could create something good.

 

“Face it. Even once all this is over we’ll still have to find a way to work together because we have to share the territory and shit. Werewolves have that, right? You and Scott will have to figure things out.”

 

“What makes you think I'm staying once this is all over?” Derek asked then. “I came here to find my sister and avenge her. I have no reason to stay.”

 

Stiles was pretty sure he couldn't hide the surprise on his face, as well as disappointment. Where it came from, he had no idea, but he found himself hoping Derek would stick around. He wanted to point out that they needed him, that _Stiles_ needed him. Who else were they going to learn from? Not that Derek had been really forthcoming with information up till now but Stiles was working on winning him over.

 

“You know, that's quite a bummer. I was hoping to get to know you better. I feel like there's a lot more hidden behind that pretty face than you let the world see,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice light and unbothered as he dropped the penny into the hole. He filled it again and tried to pat the dirt back into place and cover the patch back up so it wasn't too obvious. Then he stood and brushed off his hands so he could pack his stuff. Finished up, Stiles hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder.

 

Truth was though, he was definitely bothered by the fact that Derek insisted on being so stubborn and working against him. Sure, he understood he couldn't ask for blind trust but… his gut feeling told him there was something there. He was doing the right thing with Derek. Now he just had to make Derek see that.

 

“And I don't say that about just anyone, trust me. Lots of people out there with pretty faces and nothing behind them. You're like Lydia though. Kind of like an enigma.” One that he intended to solve in the time he had. As far as possible. Or even just watch how he worked. That alone was a thing of beauty.

 

Derek wasn’t replying, just giving Stiles a hard look so the teen shrugged, concluding that they were done here.

 

“Alright, man. I’ll keep you up to date with the alpha. See ya around.”

 

With one last look at the sign he had created on the tree, he brushed the bark with his hand, and walked away.

* * *

 

She was back.

 

_She was back._

 

**She was back.**

 

That thought made Derek run cold over and over, every beat of his heart sending liquid fire running through his veins. He was hot and cold and it didn’t make sense. His chest was too tight to breathe and yet he felt ripped open like he was one giant open wound. Nothing made sense.

 

He’d been reduced to fight or flight mode and he was running with shaking knees and shuddering breaths. It had been a long time since he last felt so small and helpless and it was all _her_ fault. Derek hated what effect she had on him - the excruciating fear, depthless dismay and downright terror. She had targeted him while he’d been utterly vulnerable and had kept him that way. She’d played with him like a toy. But the worst part was… He was grown now, he knew better, and yet she still rendered him useless.

 

She had power over him and she knew it. Her taunts rang through the forest behind him; crude words from a disgustingly sweet tone. Even though Derek was faster she knew his every next move and was enjoying the game.

 

Home was supposed to be a safe place but Derek only felt sick and lightheaded as he burst into the burnt out house. Once again he’d led her straight here, straight to the heart of the territory.

  
His thoughts briefly bled over to Stiles and his protection spells. Derek was sure his eyes had been deceiving him when he saw sudden colors swirl over Stiles’ skin just before he left; from the touch of his fingertips on the tree up his hand, wrapping around his wrist and curling along his arm. For a moment he thought it could actually be magic. Oh, what he’d give to have it work, even if he knew he didn’t deserve any better than _her_. He’d rather die… just not at her hand.

 

His phone chimed cheerfully, in total irony of the situation. Stiles. It was always Stiles these days. Could only be Stiles. The last person to have had his phone number before him was Laura after all.

 

**From: Stiles**

**Hey big bad, any updates?**

 

Right after reading the message, Derek heard the click of the gun, and then the blast. A rather big blast. His whole body tensed, waiting for the bullet to hit. Instead, there was a thud behind him of a body falling. Derek turned to the sight of Kate on the ground, still struggling to breathe but slowly bleeding out. It took him a moment to realize the gun had seemingly exploded in her hands.

 

It came as a shock. Derek knew that she was meticulous with her weapons, and always prepared. The chances of this happening were one in a thousand probably. If not even less. Derek didn't know what to think.

 

For the most part, he was sure somehow she would survive. It didn't feel possible for her to just be gone now. Derek could already see her jumping up again just as he reached her side, saying it was all a trick and striking him down. But she didn't. Her eyes gazed up at him in horror as he stood above her and she took a last few rasping breaths. Then her heart stopped beating.

 

Derek waited for the moment he would be able to tell she was ultimately dead. He waited for that moment as people said that they could see the soul leave the body. He saw nothing.

 

Was it over? Just like that? Derek could feel himself start to shake with relief that she was gone. Forever. That she had finally paid for what she had done. Eliminated by her own hands, her own greed and destruction.

 

His feet led him to the only place that mildly felt like home that he had left: Peter. Finally, he felt like maybe he was allowed some comfort by the closeness of the last of his pack, like he was allowed to call his uncle pack - now that the person who had done this to him had paid the ultimate price. Now that he could sit here and tell him it was over. She was gone.

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he started to shake again, tears forming in his eyes and running down his cheeks without his permission.

 

That's where Stiles found him, a few hours later, sitting at Peter's side, eyes still rimmed red.

 

“Oh. Hey, I didn't know… I mean, you never answered my texts so I...” Stiles trailed off and Derek knew he could see how vulnerable he was right now and was grateful he didn't say anything about it.

 

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek asked but even he could hear the weariness in his own voice.

 

Stiles walked over to his side, holding up a mp3 player and a small speaker. “I read somewhere once that music can help stimulate the brain. And since even comatose patients possibly hear everything it can cause enjoyment,” he explained. “So I made a playlist. Most of it is my mother's favorite CD from when she was sick and bound to the bed. It's just some piano instrumentals. I was going to leave it here for him, in case it helps somehow… is that okay?”

 

Piano instrumentals. Like those that had been playing in Stiles’ room the other day. That's what that was all about. Derek vaguely remembered the sheriff mentioning his late wife back when he had taken care of Laura and him at the station right after the fire and that's- that's where he knew Stiles from. He had been the little boy who'd come up to him and sat by his side, babbling without pause, while Laura talked to a deputy. It figured that he hadn’t remembered the scent when all he had been able to smell was ash. He hadn’t been able to listen to the boy either, too shocked. Derek wasn’t in much better composure now.

 

Stiles stood awkwardly next to him, shifting slightly, while Derek stared at his own hands, thankful that he had cried earlier as it had worn him out from allowing too much emotion this second.

 

“I don't want to intrude or anything, I just thought-”

 

“I think it's a good idea,” Derek interrupted him.

 

“Really?”

 

Derek could feel the satisfaction radiating off of Stiles. He nodded.

 

“Should I put some on right away?” Stiles asked, already setting up the player and glancing Derek's way. Derek still refrained from looking over at him but nodded again. Seconds later, soft music filled the air and this time it seemed to soothe something inside Derek. It had him relaxing deeper into his chair and then finally admitting:

 

“I think your spell worked.”

 

Stiles gawked at him. “Wait, are you serious? How? Why? What happened?” A pause and then, “You better not be messing with me, Hale.”

 

Derek snorted lightly. “Remember the hunters I told you about? One of them that came back to town was chasing me earlier, and her gun just blew up in her face.”

 

“That could have been a coincidence though. If she was using an old model or something, it could've-”

 

“No.” Derek shook his head. “I saw your hands when you were leaving earlier. And she- it happened right after you texted.”

 

Stiles stilled next to him for once. “I felt something. It felt… I can't explain it but I knew something was up. You really think it was my magic? These hands?” He held them up in front of himself and stared at his currently pale fingers.

 

Derek nodded in reply. “There is something about you.”

 

Stiles didn’t miss a beat. “Are you sure that's not just your attraction to me talking?”

 

“You wish,” Derek huffed. And yet, he couldn't deny that Stiles wasn't unattractive. In his own way. There was more than something mystifying about him. There was his honesty and his snark, his optimism and sense of humor, his lack of self-preservation and crazily blind trust, as well as the way he was doing everything he could to try and help him, and Peter. For no personal gain, it seemed. He was an extraordinary guy.

 

“If we're going by things I wish for, I could add a lot more to that list,” Stiles hummed.

 

Or maybe Derek was just emotional at the moment. It was the music. Had to be. He'd always had a soft spot for the piano, and with Stiles’ standing here, preening like a superhero with his own background music- it was just all too cheesy. Stiles’ small crooked smile, waving his fingers like he could conjure up something instantly. Ridiculous.

 

“Listen, we need to figure out exactly how your magic works because it can come in very handy against the alpha,” Derek refocused on the issue, looking back at Peter.

 

“We,” Stiles repeated. “So you're going to help me with what I've been trying to do for months on my own now? How much do you know about magic?”

 

“Not very much unfortunately,” Derek admitted. “But I know where to look.”

 

“Alright, I'm down. I totally thought it would take longer to win you over. But hey, I've got magic hands now. In more way than one.”

 

Derek wished he hadn't looked over so he hadn't caught that wink Stiles sent his way.

 

“You're ridiculous,” he told him, shaking his head.

* * *

 

As if in agreement, Peter tapped a finger.

The following weeks were quiet and uneventful, which only made Stiles more nervous. There were no more signs of alpha attacks or of hunters. It was like the calm before the storm.  
  
Meanwhile, here he was in the part of the park behind Beacons Crossing Home that lead to the preserve with Derek and Peter, trying to work on his magic. He'd been making some progress, although they hadn't figured out the trick to things yet - while Peter was taking great steps forward, which Derek claimed must have been the music. He was responsive now, although he hadn't made an attempt to talk yet. They had gotten snorts and soft huffs out of him though, particularly when Stiles said something that made Derek roll his eyes and call him "idiot".  
  
Considering the timing of Peter's development and the alpha's disappearance right after Kate's death, Stiles had a theory. Part of him believed Derek might have come to the same conclusion, a different part didn't want to find out how he might react if he hadn't. Derek was still a tough egg to crack, even if he had started to accept Stiles.  
  
For the fact that Derek claimed to hate Stiles, he sure had a high tolerance for him. They saw each other or texted every day, and Derek never seemed in a rush to get away - even though their quest might actually be over. Yet, Derek was still helping him and Stiles hoped that meant he was winning him over. He'd been a great help with informing Stiles about the supernatural and he was sure there was so much more he could learn from him. Stiles' hopes were rising. And Derek-  
  
"Derek! Something is happening! Derek! Look, look!" Stiles threw up his arms in the werewolf's direction to show the gentle orange-ish swirls that had started to wrap their way up around them, from one mole to the next. In doing so, he succeeded in abruptly lifting the bench they were sitting on.  
  
"Stiles!"  
  
As much as he loved hearing Derek call his name, Stiles was starting to flood with panic as the bench started to wobble in mid air.  
  
"Ohmygod!"  
  
If he fell from this height he was sure to break something. Before he knew it, Stiles was gripping the side of the bench tightly, and his magic was fading away. The bench started to drop. He couldn't deny the quiet scream he let out as he fell but it was suddenly cut off as he fell into Derek's arms.  
  
Derek stumbled, only just having landed on his feet, at the same time as the bench crashed down against Derek's back. There was a loud crack. One that Stiles not only heard but felt vibrate through Derek, followed by a quiet groan, and them both sinking to the ground.  
  
"Fuck! Derek, are you okay?!"  
  
Stiles scrambled to his knees so he could lean over Derek in panic, trying to figure out where he was hurt. His hands fluttered over him, finally settling on his abdomen. They tingled, and Stiles watched the color on them bloom before his eyes. Marks faintly shaped like wolves and triskeles danced up his arms in blue. He wasn't quite sure what was happening but Stiles didn't move until the color died down. Derek immediately sat up and that's when Stiles could finally let out the breath he'd seen to be holding.  
  
"I'm... Fine," Derek said, the surprise obvious in his voice.  
  
"Are you sure? I heard... I heard something- I could have sworn you'd be paralyzed now too."  
  
"Super healing, remember? And I think you just sped up the process even more." Derek stretched a little, bringing him closer to Stiles, who still sat in a nervous aftershock, hand curling into Derek's shirt subconsciously.  
  
"But I... I did?" Stiles asked.  
  
"That was a great amount of energy right now. How did you do it? What were you thinking about?" Derek gazed straight at Stiles and although the question was serious, the situation felt rather intimate. Stiles was sure Derek could look straight through him right now.  
  
"I wasn't thinking about anything in particular," he replied. "It was-"  
  
_Derek_ . He'd been thinking about Derek when it happened. Before the bench flew up and then while healing him. Stiles could feel his cheeks starting to heat. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Okay, uh, maybe it wasn't a thing but rather a someone," he confessed. His heart had started beating loudly in his ears and the worst part was that he knew both werewolves could hear it. Goddamnit, they could sense every chemosignal he let out. He was a goner.  
  
"Does that mean that someone is basically like my anchor to control this, like Allison is to Scott?" Stiles asked, because it was all starting to dawn on him now. His protection spells hadn't worked because of the right ingredients or words. They had been powered by his will to keep Derek safe alone.  
  
"Maybe," Derek said slowly. Stiles could see the question in his marvelous gray eyes but Derek was hesitating to ask it. It gave Stiles the time to take in his face up close, the thick black hair, that looked both sharply spikes, but soft to the touch - Stiles just wanted to run his hands through it - and the dark scruff along his jaw that went  with it. Then there were the addictive eyes and high cheekbones, and those lips, open just enough to let those adorable bunny teeth peek out. Stiles' gaze hung on those lips. Once it shot up to Derek's eyes though, he found him looking back at his own lips just a split second before he returned the look. The air was thick between them.  
  
This was it. This was what Stiles had been waiting for since... Since the beginning really. But the moment was broken all too soon by Peter, who decided it was his job now to make kissing sounds.  
  
Stiles turned to throw him a narrow-eyed look. When he turned back to Derek, the werewolf was blushing himself and averted his eyes.  
  
"I mean, if you want to, you know I'm always up for it," Stiles told him. "Most nights literally up, if you know what I mean."  
  
Stiles grinned impishly. A little humor could save any situation, right?  
  
"Oh my god," Derek grimaced, "can you never shut up?"  
  
"Make me," Stiles challenged, wiggling his eyebrows, which should have totally killed the vibe. But to his surprise, after a moment of thought, he found Derek's hand wrapping around his neck and pulling him in to drown him in a heavenly kiss. The warm lips against his, demanding Stiles' silence, pushing and yet tugging, teeth biting into his lip - it made his knees buckle even though he was sitting on them.  
  
It was over all too soon with Derek smirking right back at him, now that Stiles was actually left speechless. Peter groaned somewhere in the background but Stiles really couldn't care less about having put on a show. _Derek_ had just _kissed_ him. Derek, who was already on his feet by the time Stiles' brain had decided it would agree to work again.  
  
"FYI, feel free to shut me up like that any time," he informed Derek, clumsily standing up himself. "Hot damn."  
  
Derek huffed at him, trying to shrug the remark off but Stiles could see the slight preening at the compliment.  
  
"Or you know, use any other excuse to do that again. I'll even pretend to be drowning for some mouth to mouth," he continued.  
  
"I could always let you drown."  
  
"You wouldn't."  
  
"What if I would?"  
  
"You wouldn't," Stiles insisted, shaking his head. He beamed at Derek's resigned scoff, when he realized there was no use in arguing. Stiles had totally read Derek right. He was a soft hearted guy with just a tough exterior, that he had managed to get through.  
  
"You're the worst," Derek told him as he made his way back to Peter's wheelchair. Stiles followed in a silent agreement that they had had enough excitement for today.  
  
"Love ya too, big guy," Stiles teased.  
  
Maybe this real life twist of their Teen Wolf life wasn't so bad after all. They weren't quite walking off into the sunset, and they were quite a quirky trio, walking back out the park to the care facility, but things were good. And looking over at Derek to find a small smile on his face, Stiles had a feeling they would only be getting better.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism and comments are greatly welcomed, thank you for reading! 
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> [Find the artist on tumblr.](https://mophasia.tumblr.com)
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> [Another link for the art.](https://mophasia.tumblr.com/post/176293220847/of-snakebites-and-werewolf-bites-story-by)
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> [My tumblr, come say hi :)](https://thinminthale.tumblr.com)


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